Remember Me When
by asterisms
Summary: A collection of memories and moments that never were, yet always will be. Some are full of tears, others laughter, but they are all bound together by one thing: love for a story that will never die.
1. Salazar

**Title: **Remember Me When

**Author:** bats-in-boots

**I don't own Harry Potter. **

**Summary: **A collection of memories and moments that never were, yet always will be. Some are full of tears, others laughter, but they are all bound together by one thing: love for a story that will never die.

Salazar Slytherin

The graves stood silently in the cold morning air. The only sound to be heard was one man's breath. He walked quickly down the path as if frightened by the fog that drifted through the crumbling stones and kept his head bowed. A veil of dark, age streaked hair covered his face and a woolen cloak was pulled tightly around the man's bony frame. He turned sharply then paused for a moment, seemingly questioning his presence in the silent yard, before stepping lightly off the worn trail and into the tall grass that swayed helplessly in the wind.

_ They were all helpless, it seemed._

He wove through the scattered headstones and ducked under the branches of a willow before falling to his knees in front of a rose covered stone. How long had it been since his beloved had fallen?

_ Gryffindor said time can heal everything._

It seemed like ages. Was it too long?

_ He was wrong._

No, he could still remember the way her golden hair fell in waves as she laughed. But not even she understood. Their time had been cut short by the very beings she would have died to save.

_ And fate is laughing again. _

He tells himself that it doesn't hurt and soon begins to believe it too. He'd always been a good liar.

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><p><strong>AN: **Please feel free to request something.


	2. Hermione and Krum

**Title:** Remember Me When

**Author:** bats-in-boots

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: **I had some free time and decided to work on this. About Krum's accent… I didn't even attempt it because… well… I didn't want to butcher it. Sorry if that bothers you.

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><p><span>Hermione and Krum<span>

Hermione sighed as she listened to the obnoxious chatter coming from the row of bookshelves behind her. How was she supposed to study with that group of star struck idiots hanging around every time Victor Krum walked through the door. She looked out from behind her stack of books to see the previously mentioned Quidditch star and sighed again. He seemed to spend all his time in the library these days, ever since the Yule Ball was announced and she couldn't get a moment of silence in her former sanctuary. She didn't really understand why, the library wasn't that big. If he'd wanted help finding a book all he'd need to do is ask, then maybe he'd be able to leave and take his fans with him. Hermione shook her head and glanced back down at her Potions text.

She looked up when she heard someone clear their throat and was surprised to see Krum standing there, so she just smiled at the boy, though she used the term extremely loosely, standing next to her. He didn't smile back, but blinked and looked down at her book. Hermione turned away and furrowed her brows. She swallowed and looked back up at him.

"Ummm, can I help you with something?" she asked quietly. She noticed the giggling had stopped and looked passed him to see the girls from before glaring at her from behind one of the shelves. She just frowned and looked back up at the surprisingly awkward boy, once again using the term _very_ loosely. He just shook his head and began to walk away. Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled another stack of books closer to her, _boys. _Between him and Ron she suspected she'd be insane by the end of the year.

~oOoOo~

"Excuse me." The voice that pulled her away from her book was quiet and smooth. Hermione looked up, curious to see who had the courage to interrupt her when studying, and was surprised to make out the dark features of Victor Krum in the lowlight. He hadn't approached her since that day a week ago, and she was confused as of why he'd talk to her now.

"Yes?" she asked. Krum took a deep breath and sat down next to her, and Hermione hurried to move her bag out of the way.

"Will you go with me?" he asked. Hermione opened her mouth to answer before snapping it shut. She had no idea what he meant. She bit her lip and gathered her stuff to put away.

"Sure, I guess. Where-" she was stopped by his hand on her wrist.

"Call me Victor." Hermione grasped desperately for any logical explanation as to what was happening, but she had nothing.

"I- Ok, uh… Call me Hermione." She saw Krum, no, _Victor, _grin and smiled hesitantly back at him. Are all boys this confusing? She thought to herself as he began to speak again.

"So," he started, "will you go with me?" he saw her confused look and clarified. "To the Yule Ball." Hermione laughed, though she wasn't sure why, and had to grab his wrist this time to stop him from leaving with a scowl on his face.

"I'm sorry, what? You're asking me? Why?" she was shocked. She was more than shocked. Why would anyone ask her? Harry had told her she was beautiful, sure, but that was different.

"You are… beautiful, Hermione," she winced when his accent butchered her name, "and you are smart. You don't fawn over me." Hermione looked away. Was this a joke? Was he going to stand her up, or maybe he'd… A warm hand brought her chin up to look into his eyes and Hermione smiled. Despite all logic based on past experiences with guys who claimed to like her, maybe this could work. Maybe she could trust him. Maybe he could make her happy. He raised an eyebrow in question and Hermione decided to act like a Gryffindor, it had never let her down before.

"Yes." They could be happy together, if only for a night.

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><p><strong>AN: **Once again, feel free to request anything.

The last time- I hope this was what you were looking for, thanks for the review. I'm glad you liked the last one. =D


	3. Vernon

**Title:** Remember Me When

**Author: **bats-in-boots

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

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><p><span>Vernon Dursley<span>

Vernon stared down at the small bundle wrapped in his wife's arms and had to resist the urge to smile. Plans for the future flickered through his mind and he soon got lost in the colorful, soon-to-be memories. The boy would grow up to be strong some day, and Vernon would be there the whole way. Yes, he'd be the perfect father. He could almost hear the shouts of joy and squeals of laughter filtering through the sunlit air. He saw himself in his visions, a better self that was smiling along with the lad as they played catch and shared stories.

He would be everything his own father wasn't.

_The steady hand on his shoulder prevented him from joining the other boys. "They're below you, Vernon. Don't associate with them." _

He would give the boy no reason to fear.

_He stood up straight and calmly accepted the words and flecks of spittle that flew towards him. He wasn't afraid. No, a voice whispered sweetly, just a liar. _

He would protect him, and love him as his own.

_"It's ok, Vernon, he doesn't mean it." He'd memorized the words from all the times he'd hold back his tears as his mother rocked him slowly. "You're safe now."_

His wife's voice shocked him out of his musings. "What do we do with it?" Her question was sharp and he didn't understand.

"What do you mean, Pet?" he asked, confusion coloring his voice.

"Well, we can't keep the thing. I refuse." Vernon looked down at the boy sleeping peacefully and held back a frown; he'd gotten very proficient at holding things back. His father had made sure of it.

"But, you can't… He's ours." His voice was still confused, and Petunia's patience had worn out.

"No," she looked away and he did frown this time, "he's not. He will never be ours. I refuse to associate with freaks!" With that she shoved the boy into his arms and snatched the letter from the boy's tiny hand, leaving a sliver of blood where the envelope slid across his skin. Vernon guessed it would be one of many times the boy would be hurt here. He could sense Petunia's growing anger as she read and resisted the urge to cradle the boy even closer to his chest, as if to protect him from his wife's gaze. The contents of the letter were clear. The boy was staying.

"Should I take him up to Dudley's room?" he asked, hoping to distract her from her anger. It didn't work.

"No," she spat and she glared at the drops of blood that stained the boy's pearly skin. "He doesn't deserve it." Her glare was directed at the boy's face now, and Vernon had to fight to keep himself still. His entire being screamed for him to protect the boy somehow. Sure, there was something different about him, something that wasn't normal, but he couldn't see why she hated the boy so. He was just a little thing after all, and had done nothing wrong.

His views on normalcy had been pounded into him from the beginning, but as the boy's eyes blinked open, he couldn't help but remember that there was an exception to any rule, and this boy was it for him. He cleared his throat and was about to voice his thoughts to Petunia when she snatched the boy away and carried him towards the stairs. No, she wouldn't, she _couldn't_ be doing what he thought she was. Could she?

He watched as the door was opened and the boy was placed onto an extra cot they kept there, along with an assortment of other household objects. The door was slammed shut and Petunia stalked up the stairs, leaving Vernon to stare at the cupboard door. He moved towards it and hesitated when he heard the boy begin to cry. With a wary glance, Vernon opened the door and cradled the boy in his arms as he stood, rocking him slowly. He could have loved this child. He could have been the perfect father.

Soon the boy's eyes drifted shut and he moved to place him back into the darkness. He checked the tiny space for spiders and set the boy down. He refused to close the door; he couldn't leave him alone. So, with a whispered promise, Vernon hurried up the stairs and into their spare room. He pulled a box down from the top shelf and shifted the objects around until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out the stuffed animal with a satisfied grin and made his way back to the slumbering child.

He brushed the boy's hair away from his forehead and his hand drifted across the angry red scar. He sighed and placed the toy next to the boy, smiling sadly as it was clutched to his chest. The boy wouldn't be so alone now. Waves of self loathing washed through him and he closed his eyes tightly, locking the feelings away. He was doing the right thing. He would support Petunia in this. She needed him.

_"Please, Daddy," his cries were ignored. "I need you." _

Vernon clenched his fists and shut the door angrily. Hatred rushed through him when he thought of his father. He'd always sworn he would never be like him. He seemed to be breaking a lot of promises lately. He heard Petunia call for him to leave the freak alone, and with one last look at the cupboard door he tuned away.

"It's ok, Harry. She doesn't mean it," he supposed one lie wouldn't hurt amidst so many other broken promises. Vernon couldn't bring himself to continue and began to climb the stairs quietly in order to let the boy have his rest. He already knew the child would never truly be safe here; and he would be one of those reasons. New soon-to-be memories flickered through his mind now, instead of laughter they were of anger and fear. He truly understood the meaning of those prophetic words his teacher had once spoken: "History repeats itself."

He knew the part he played in this new history, and he hated it. But it was his part, and he would play it well. For Petunia, he thought to himself, even as he imagined those emerald eyes dulled with fear and apathy. He would do this for Petunia.

~oOoOo~

Despite the storm of emotions surrounding him, Harry Potter slept on with a worn stag clutched in his arms, oblivious to the pain that would soon plague his life.

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><p><strong>AN: **This is my take on Vernon that night. Once again, feel free to request anything.


	4. Luna and Ron

**Title:** Remember Me When

**Author: **bats-in-boots

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

Luna Lovegood and Ron Weasley

Luna watched the boy as he wandered through the trees and giggled, digging her nails into the bark and ducking as he turned. Her Papa had always told her that it wasn't nice to spy on others, but she wasn't spying. She was observing. Finally, she got tired of watching and stepped forward.

"You look lost," she whispered, letting the wind carry her voice to his ears.

"I know where I am." His voice was angry, but Luna brushed it off with a smile.

"That's not what I meant," she explained. (Though she knew he didn't have any clue where he was.) "Why are you sad?" She knew that he wouldn't answer, so she wasn't surprised when he stomped away. She just skipped after him.

"Stop following me!" he cried, his frustration with being lost taken out on the strange girl behind him. But the girl wasn't deterred.

"I like your face," she stared at a point behind him, "it matches your hair." His face got even redder at her comment and he glared, preparing himself for a fight. "People don't see you, do they?" The boy opened his mouth to yell at her, but she plowed on in the airy voice he had begun to associate with the loony girl. "It's okay; people don't notice a lot of things." She continued on to describe a strange creature to him and he snorted, managing to speak as she paused.

"Let me guess, it has a horn too, doesn't it." She looked delighted and the boy frowned. That's not the reaction he'd wanted.

"Oh yes, and it's called the-" he succeeded in interrupting her this time.

"I don't care what it's called. You're stupid!" With that he ran further into the forest, ignoring her watery eyes.

Luna sighed as she watched the silly boy with red hair run away. She loved the color red; it reminded her of fire and the hat her mother used to wear as she worked. She didn't know where the hat was now, but she liked to think it was with Mommy up in the sky. Shaking her head, Luna sighed as she followed the boy. She didn't want his hair to be taken like Mommy was. She found him sitting on a tree stump.

"You're still lost." The boy looked up and glared again. Luna smiled at him and reached a hand out to touch his hair, it was the exact color… She was startled when he slapped her hand away and blinked in shock when she felt rain coming from her eyes. Strange, her Papa had never mentioned that eyes could leak before.

"Don't cry," the boy's voice was quiet. He probably didn't want to wake the trees, Luna reasoned. "Ginny cries too, and Mum always kisses her on the head."

"Does your Ginny have red hair too?" Luna asked. The boy just stared at her as he nodded. "I like red." She felt no need to explain to the boy. "Are you mad at your Ginny?"

"Yes," he snapped, ignoring the funny feeling he got when she called Ginny his. It made him feel bad, and he didn't want to be guilty. "I made her cry." Luna didn't say anything for a while.

"You're lost, and nobody can find you," she said. "You have to find them." Ron blinked.

"What?" His ears were red, Luna noticed as she watched the grass dance.

"All you need to do is walk," she whispered to him as if it was some great secret. "If you're moving then you're one step closer to being found." The boy just stared at her with blank eyes. He had no idea what the girl was saying. "What's your name?" she finally asked.

"Ron," he answered, happy that he had someone to listen, even if it had to be this crazy girl.

"That's a pretty name. I'm Luna." Ron couldn't even protest at his name being called pretty. "You aren't red anymore. Can you be red all the time?" Ron gaped and Luna grabbed his hand and kissed it like she'd seen Papa do, only to have Ron snatch it away.

"What are you doing?" he cried, his shock obvious. Luna tilted her head and grinned.

"Papa used to do it all the time, he says it's nice." Ron opened his mouth to reply before hesitating. Luna held out her hand and Ron took it in his. He was surprised at how tiny it was. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand and Luna traced the skin that still tingled from his touch. Was that how Mommy felt before she left?

"Ummm," Luna stared at the boy, and he stuttered when he saw the intensity in her eyes.

"Do you want to be friends?" she asked. Ron paused before blurting out the first thought that filtered through his mind.

"No, I'm not supposed to talk to loony people," he said, as if disgusted she would even ask. Loony, thought Luna, it sounded nice. She looked up and noticed his eyes were wary. He was probably worried she would start leaking, crying, she corrected herself.

"Okay," Luna shrugged. She'd never had a friend before, and she didn't need one now. "Bye!" she called to the strange, red boy named Ron as she skipped away.

"Wait!" he yelled. Luna turned, fighting back the hope rising in her throat. "Can you tell me how to get out?" Luna just smiled and pointed to the smoke rising from a chimney in the distance before running home. She felt her tears fall, and though she knew there was nothing to cry about, she couldn't seem to stop it.

Later that night, as she told her Papa about the boy with hair like Mommy's hat, she was surprised when his eyes started leaking too. This time, though, she knew what it was called.


	5. Albus

**Title:** Remember Me When

**Author: **bats-in-boots

**I don't own Harry Potter. **

Albus Dumbledore 

The glittering fragments surrounded him as the old man rose slowly from his chair. The twinkle in his eyes was gone, almost as if the bits of glass and metal that littered the floor had stolen the light that used to shine there. His robes brushed across the shattered pieces, catching onto the ragged edges as the man drifted through the room.

A flash of emerald caught the man's eyes and with a sad, gentle sigh, the man moved to pick it up. He held the trinket delicately as if he was afraid that one misplaced breath could shatter it. The light reflected beautifully across the shimmering piece of glass and the man couldn't help but smile, though it was marred by his tired eyes. He traced the imperfections reverently, and was almost surprised that the cracks and slivers did little to distract from the beauty.

"Fool," he whispered to himself, ignoring the knowing gazes of the portraits. He let the piece of glass slip from his fingers and ignored the pang of sorrow that bloomed from his heart. He had no right to hold it so close. His eyes closed and regret slipped down his face to rest with the broken fragments around him. Each piece of the once mystical trinkets reminded him of his failures, and how he had let the boy down. A part of him longed to vanish the scattered objects, but he left them lying in their broken glory as a testimony to his mistakes.

The next morning, when Minerva came to check up on him, she asked no questions about the empty shelves. It was better that she didn't, really.

He wouldn't have answered.


	6. Ron and Hermione

**Title:** Remember Me When

**Author: **bats-in-boots

**I don't own Harry Potter. **

Requested by: **xXxAnonymousLoserXxX** Hope you like it. I'll do another one with these two sometime. Their relationship is so fun to write :) Next time I'll be nicer to them, though. Maybe…

Ron and Hermione 

Hermione glared across the tent at the sleeping Weasley. She hated him so much right now, and she hated herself almost as much. How could she let such a rash, _stupid_ boy have so much power over her? She had trusted him, and all he'd done in return was leave! She promised herself then and there that she would never trust him again.

He rolled over in his sleep and she almost smiled at how adorable he looked before catching herself and scowling again. She turned away and glared at the wall of the tent instead. Annoyed with her own stupidity, she was about to close her eyes when a hesitant whisper reached her ears.

"Hermione," she looked up and was startled to see Ron watching her. She swallowed and had to hold back tears at the expression on his face. "I… I'm sorry." She frowned, but found herself unable to turn away. Why was he doing this to her? He continued, both afraid and determined. "I'm sorry for leaving you and Harry. I'm sorry for being an idiot."

"You're always an idiot," she muttered, though he wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear that or not, as she had finally turned away. She fought against her tears as he continued.

"But most of all," he hesitated and she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the rest or not. "Most of all… I'm sorry for hurting you." There, he'd said it. He waited for her to start yelling or crying, but she only sighed and continued watching the opposite wall. When he got no reaction, he closed his eyes and turned away, knowing that he'd make no progress tonight.

Why was this happening? Hermione thought to herself. Why couldn't things be simple again?

She felt as if there was a weight on her chest, and it was almost painful to breathe. Her throat burned with tears and she felt them slip past her eyelids, tracing cool lines down her cheeks. She choked on the sobs she desperately held back and winced at the dull pain the action caused.

Hermione turned to look at the sleeping boy once more and tried to bring back the anger from before. Anything was better than this crushing, endless pain. She was so tired of all this hurt. She just didn't understand. Why was everything so complicated?

She fought against the tears and soon managed to relax into the silence. She closed her eyes, doing her best to ignore the burning, and drifted off to sleep. She needed all the rest she could get. They all did.


	7. Peter Pettigrew

**Title:** Remember Me When

**Author: **bats-in-boots

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

Peter Pettigrew

Peter Pettigrew was tired.

He was tired of mocking laughter disguised by friendly jests.

He was tired of disgusted sneers disguised by happy smiles.

He was tired of everything.

He stared at the black mark that marred his skin and sighed. He couldn't bring himself to regret his choice. At least with the Death Eaters his place was clear. There were no sugary words here. If someone disliked you they made it known, mainly in the most painful way possible.

He grinned at his reflection in the mirror and held his head up proudly. He was a part of something bigger than a forgotten childhood dream now. He was a part of something _great._

Memories flickered through his mind like static and he allowed them, knowing that nothing could change his mind. There had been so much laughter, though he very rarely got the joke. (He couldn't help but feel that most of the time _he_ had been the joke.) He remembered lazy days by the lake and crazy pranks pulled off in the middle of the night. He had always been the lookout; even then he'd been good at hiding.

He would need all of those skills now, not only to survive in the ranks, but to fool his (former) friends into believing him. He shivered as a chill ran down his spine, though he didn't know if it was of fear or anticipation. He craved for his friends to know what he had felt all those years. He wanted them to be hurt and unable to do anything about it. He wanted them to _feel_ the regret as it coursed through their veins.

Peter was startled out of his thoughts by the burning mark and he cackled as he vanished, only to appear in the circle that surrounded his lord. "Pettigrew," the voice was high and cold.

"Yes, Master?" the question was clear in his voice as he waited for the command, and his lord smiled at him.

"You are aquatinted with the Potters, correct?" he continued without acknowledging Peter's answering nod. "Tell me their location, and you shall be rewarded." Peter felt his heart pound with excitement and a smile of wicked glee spread across his face. He could do this. Nothing would ever hold him back, not even _them_.

"They live in Godric's Hollow, My Lord." The man showed no sign of approval, but his words were even better.

"Well done, Pettigrew. You have pleased me, and you have brought us one step closer to victory." Peter watched his lord leave and smiled as the scene played out in his mind. Soon he was the only in the room, and his laughter echoed in the empty hall, harmonizing with the imaginary screams of his dying friends.


	8. Draco Malfoy

**Title:** Remember Me When

**Author: **bats-in-boots

**I don't own Harry Potter. **

Sorry this took so long, I couldn't decide on what version of it I liked the most, but I hope this is somewhat realistic. Well, as realistic as Harry Potter fanfiction can be. So here it is, Draco through the eyes of his mother, kind of. At least I'm somewhat happy with it, I've been intrigued about his childhood for a while, but writing this was a pain. It just wouldn't flow at all, that's why I decided to do it this way and not actually from Draco's point of view.

Draco Malfoy

The sun filtered through the large windows, reflecting off of ornate mirrors and casting a glow around the room. The only thing that could be heard was the gentle breathing of a small boy, asleep in his mother's arms. She held him tightly, knowing that if her son had been awake, their only contact would be cold smiles and sharp words designed to straighten posture. Sometimes it hurt to think that her son was growing up so alone, he had nobody, and she didn't even try to deny her part in the charade. Then she would remember the echoing laughter and sweet smiles he still so freely gave, and wondered if it was herself, not this child, who should be pitied.

Draco still had his innocence. She had managed to persuade Lucius that he would make no progress at teaching the Dark Arts when the boy was still so young, but time was running out. The absence of the Dark Lord had done nothing to stop the cruelty that happened behind closed doors. If anything, it only made it easier, and for the first time in many years, Narcissa was scared. Not for herself, no, she was far too gone already, but for her son. There was a storm brewing, she could feel the stirring in her magic. She knew that something important would happen soon, and she knew that Draco was going to be involved.

Narcissa felt the boy stir in her arms and sighed, shaking the treacherous thoughts out of her head. If anyone caught wind of her doubts, she knew that there would be consequences. With that in mind, the woman stood and made her way to the door, unsure if she wanted her son to see her or not. The decision was made for her, however, when a tired voice called out to her. "Mum?" She turned to see him rubbing sleepily at his eyes and another piece of her heart melted.

"Yes, Draco?" she was careful to keep any and all emotion out of her voice.

"What are you doing?" The question was innocent, but she couldn't help the pang in her chest when she saw his confused frown. She knew that she deserved it, she had never shown any care for the boy before, but something shifted with that question. She was scared again, and she had a terrible feeling that her next words would change the future. Whether it would be for better or worse, she did not know.

"I wanted to know if you were alright," she finally said, allowing a fraction of the warmth she felt to form a smile on her lips. Draco just grinned, that same smug, satisfied expression she had seen on Lucius so many times before, but this was different. There was genuine happiness behind that smile, and the reason added another stab of guilt to the pain she carried with her. Draco smiled because he knew, in that moment, that he was loved by someone. She just hoped that he wouldn't hate her for never showing him again.


	9. Neville Longbottom

**Title:** Remember Me When

**Author:** bats-in-boots

**I don't own Harry Potter. **

This one is of somewhat… lighter subject matter compared to some of my previous stories. I don't know if this is good or bad, I mean, I like it, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's written well. So… Tell me if you think I should ever attempt something similar to this again or if I should just stick with my "on a scale of melted ice-cream to everyone I've ever loved is dead" routine.

Neville Longbottom

It started in their first year, during their very first potions lesson. Very few people ever suspected the magnitude of the storm that was brewing, and those who did, well… They couldn't wait to see it play out.

Second year is when the betting pool began. More people were beginning to notice the symptoms, but the idea was still considered too farfetched to ever happen.

In third year, there was no change, but they were always waiting. They knew that something was coming, and they would give anything to be there when it happened.

Fourth year is when things really started to change. Not only was he on edge from Professor Moody's presence, but his confidence was improving each day.

Fifth year, however, is when Neville Longbottom gained stardom within Gryffindor house, and with anyone who had ever cowered in fear before the terrible Professor Snape.

~oOoOo~

Harry watched from his station as Professor Snape stalked through the room, tensing whenever the man looked in his direction. He was partnered with Neville today, and the air was almost sizzling with their combined nervous energy. So, it came as no surprise when Neville's hand slipped and the roots plopped into the cauldron two steps early. He ducked, pulling Neville with him, and winced when he heard a splat and cries of disgust from everyone who got hit with the seeping orange goop. He stood up carefully, doing his best not to slip, and pulled nervously at his hair. Professor Snape was going to be furious.

Sure enough, the man swept over and began berating them after dismissing the group of students whose skin was already starting to glow. Then the yelling started, and Harry knew things were just going to get worse.

He managed to ignore the angry professor and turned to glare at Malfoy who was looking far too superior. He was unable to ignore the shout from the boy next to him, though, and couldn't suppress a wince at the volume.

"SHUT UP!" Harry and the rest of the class stared in shock; even Snape was unable to respond before Neville started ranting. "I am sick and tired of you being such a JERK all the time. Just shut up and _leave me alone_!" Harry was sure that he could have continued, probably with a far greater range of vocabulary, if Snape hadn't interrupted.

"Mr. Longbottom, if you are unable to refrain from your dunderhead tendencies, then at least contain yourself while in my presence." Harry failed at hiding his grin as the rest of the class held its breath, waiting for what would happen next.

"Shut up." Harry looked over at the boy next to him, alarmed by the deadly calm voice. He saw the boy's fingers twitch and stepped away once more. This would not end well. Snape started with another angry tirade, but Harry was too focused on Neville's reactions to pay attention. A part of him wondered if he should warn his professor, but then he remembered all of the hateful words, not to mention a certain incident with a pensieve, and kept his mouth shut. Just to be sure that no permanent damage would be done, Harry grabbed Neville's wand from the table and backed away even further. Snape's eyes darted to him, and in that moment, Neville struck.

He let out a roar of fury and grabbed the cauldron with surprising strength, only to throw it straight at Snape's head before storming out of the room. Harry and the other students stared in shock, the only sound coming from the cauldron as it rolled to a stop against the leg of a table from when it was knocked away by a quick shield.

"Wow," Ron muttered to Hermione, though it seemed much louder in the silent room. That seemed to snap the angry man out of whatever shocked stupor he was in, and he yelled at them to get out, eyes burning with rage.

Even the Slytherins rushed to leave, and Harry grinned as he shot a final look at Snape before the door was slammed shut behind him. He turned to stare at the door and blinked, going over what had just happened. It started with a snicker, and soon enough he couldn't stop the peals of laughter that echoed through the hall.

_Neville Longbottom had just thrown a cauldron at Snape_.

He shook his head, still chuckling, and set off to find Neville to give him his wand back.

He couldn't wait to tell Sirius.


	10. Ollivander

**Title:** Remember Me When

**Author:** bats-in-boots

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

His capture doesn't play out exactly like it did in the books, but I needed it this way for it to work.

Garrick Ollivander

Names and faces flit through his mind, like broken butterflies held together by fragile spider webs. Each and every person he'd ever met is catalogued and sorted within his memory like the wands in his shop. Each one is stacked by year and grouped by smiles and death. It is a chaotic system, but it works.

Most people don't believe him when he says he remembers them all, but he does. He remembers even as he tries to forget.

But even as he searches for some way to obscure this terrible clarity, not once has he felt regret.

* * *

><p>It is raining today. It was raining that day too.<p>

A young boy had just entered his shop. This itself had not been strange, as most of his customers were young, nor had he found it odd that the boy was alone. What had caught his attention was something far less obvious.

There was a secret power hidden somewhere within that child. The potential for greatness had been visible even then, and it seemed that the boy knew it too. His gaze was cold and his clothes were worn, but he held himself with a quiet pride. If Garrick hadn't known better, he might have assumed that this boy was just another orphan who would soon fade away, forgotten by all but him.

But he knew better.

Tom Marvolo Riddle would do great things. Of this he was sure.

* * *

><p>Fire and screams painted the night, and the sky exploded with magic as the army of shadowed men and women marched through the streets. They were looking for him, and as the glass of his shop windows shattered, Garrick knew they had found him.<p>

He wasn't afraid.

Rough hands dragged him out into the street and he was forced to kneel at the Dark Lord's feet. The same wand he had sold years ago was clutched in the monster's pale fingers. The air around him was charged with a wicked power, and he couldn't help the pride that crept through him. It was one of his wands, after all, that had helped turn that lost but so incredibly strong child into what he was today. Even though the promise of pain was clear, Garrick couldn't help but stare in awe as the wand was aimed at the stars above.

He watched the monster's magic tear into the sky and smiled as the world burned around him.

He had no regrets.


	11. Bellatrix Lestrange

**Title:** Remember Me When

**Author: **bats-in-boots

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

This one is kind of insane, but it had to be done.

Bellatrix Lestrange

It's cold.

A permanent chill seems to hang in the air, freezing the darkness in the corners and stopping her blood as it flows through her veins. Sometimes she wonders if the cold will kill her, but then the darkness returns and she's screaming and she's _alive._

It hurts.

Knives dig under her ribs, penetrating her lungs and piercing her heart. She laughs as the shocks course through her, tearing her throat as her broken gasps fill the silence. Sometimes she wishes that the cold would end her existence. Sometimes she wishes the fire would.

A Muggle poem dances among the shards of memories, and she smiles with wicked glee when she remembers. She throws herself into the fire that surrounds her and relishes in the ice that pierces her skin.

Something is digging into her arms. She looks down and frowns when she sees the blood under her fingernails. How strange, she thinks. Did I do that? Then the darkness comes back and the memories return to her and blood surrounds her. The blood is pure and dirty and flowing through their broken skin to feed the insanity that curls through her. She loves it.

She loves.

No matter what the darkness whispers to her as she screams in denial, she knows that he will return. Her Lord will come for her.

She knows he will, because she is his.

The fire sears through her arm and she laughs. She can already feel their bones crushing in her hands. So she waits, and as the darkness leaves and her laughter fades to broken sobs, she allows herself to fall into oblivion.

It's so cold here, and she hates it.


End file.
